“That does complicate the situation.”
“Yes, it may not be easy to persuade Mrs. Kippenberg to change her mind. I rather doubt that our assistant society editor has the ingenuity to handle the story.”
“Then why don’t you send one of the regular reporters? Jerry Livingston, for instance?”
“Jerry couldn’t tell a tulle wedding veil from one of crinoline. Nor could any other man on the staff.”
“I could get that story for you,” Penny said suddenly. “Why don’t you try me?”
Mr. Parker gazed at his daughter speculatively.
“Do you really think you could?”
“Of course.” Penny spoke with assurance. “Didn’t I bring in two perfectly good scoops for your old sheet?”
“You certainly did. Your Vanishing Houseboat yarn was one of the best stories we’ve published in a year of Sundays. And the town is still talking about Tale of the Witch Doll.”
“After what I went through to get those stories, a mere wedding would be child’s play.”
“Don’t be too confident,” warned Mr. Parker. “If Mrs. Kippenberg doesn’t alter her decision about reporters, the story may be impossible to get.”
“May I try?” Penny asked eagerly.
Mr. Parker frowned. “Well, I don’t know. I hate to send you so far, and then I have a feeling—”
“Yes, Dad?”
“I can’t put my thoughts into words. It’s just that my newspaper instinct tells me this story may develop into something big. Kippenberg’s disappearance never was fully explained and his wife refused to discuss the affair with reporters.”
“Kippenberg might be at the wedding,” said Penny, thinking aloud. “If he were a normal father he would wish to see his daughter married.”
“You follow my line of thought, Penny. When you’re at the estate—if you get in—keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Then you’ll let me cover the story?” Penny cried in delight.
“Yes, I’ll telephone the office now and arrange for a photographer to go with you.”
“Tell them to send Salt Sommers,” Penny suggested quickly. “He doesn’t act as know-it-all as some of the other lads.”
“I had Sommers in mind,” her father nodded as he reached for the telephone.
“And I have a lot more than Salt Sommers in my mind,” laughed Penny.
“Meaning?”
“Another big story, Dad! A scoop for the Star and this for you.”
Penny implanted a kiss on her father’s cheek and skipped joyously from the room.
CHAPTER 2
REPORTERS NOT WANTED
In the editorial room of the Riverview Star heads turned and eyebrows lifted as Penny, decked in her best silk dress and white picture hat, clicked her high-heeled slippers across the bare floor. Jerry Livingston, reporter, stopped pecking at his typewriter and stared in undisguised admiration.
“Well, if it isn’t our Bright Penny,” he bantered. “Didn’t recognize you for a minute in all those glad rags.”
“These are my work clothes,” replied Penny. “I’m covering the Kippenberg wedding.”
Jerry pushed his hat farther back on his head and grinned.
“Tough assignment. From what I hear of the Kippenberg family, you’ll be lucky if they don’t throw the wedding cake at you.”
Penny laughed and went on, winding her way through a barricade of desks to the office of the society editor. Miss Arnold, the assistant, was talking over the telephone, but in a moment she finished and turned to face the girl.
“Good morning, Miss Parker,” she said stiffly. An edge to her voice told Penny more clearly than words that the young woman was nettled because she had not been trusted with the story.
“Good morning,” replied Penny politely. “Dad said you would be able to give me helpful suggestions about covering the Kippenberg wedding.”
“There’s not much I can tell you, really. The ceremony is to take place at two o’clock in the garden, so you’ll have ample time to reach the estate. If you get in—” Miss Arnold placed an unpleasant emphasis upon the words—“take notes on Miss Kippenberg’s gown, the flowers, the decorations, the names of her attendants. Try to keep your facts straight. Nothing infuriates a bride more than to read in the paper that she carried a bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley and roses while actually it was a bouquet of some other flower.”
“I’ll try not to infuriate Miss Kippenberg,” promised Penny.
Miss Arnold glanced quickly at her but the girl’s face was perfectly serene.
“That’s all I can tell you, Miss Parker,” she said shortly. “Bring in at least a column. For some reason the city editor rates the wedding an important story.”
“I’ll do my best,” responded Penny, and arose.
Salt Sommers was waiting for her when she came out of the office. He was a tall, spare young man, with a deep scar down his left cheek. He talked nearly as fast as he walked.
“If you’re all set, let’s go,” he said.
Penny found herself three paces behind but she caught up with the photographer as he waited for the elevator.
“I’m taking Minny along,” Salt volunteered, holding his finger steadily on the signal bell. “May come in handy.”
“Minny?” asked Penny, puzzled.
“Miniature camera. You can’t always use the Model X.”
“Oh,” murmured Penny. Deeply embarrassed, she remained silent as the elevator shot them down to the ground floor.
Salt loaded his photographic equipment into a battered press car which was parked near the loading dock at the rear of the building. He slid in behind the wheel and then as an afterthought swung open the car door for Penny.
Salt seemed to know the way to the Kippenberg estate. They shot through Riverview traffic, shaving red lights and tooting derisively at slow drivers. In open country he pressed the accelerator down to the floor and the car roared down the road, only slackening speed as it raced through a town.
“How do you travel when you’re in a hurry?”Penny gasped, clinging to her flopping hat.
Salt grinned and lifted his foot from the gasoline pedal.
“Sorry,” he said. “I get in the habit of driving fast. We have plenty of time.”
As they rode, Penny gathered scraps of information. The Kippenberg estate was located six miles from the town of Corbin and was cut off from the mainland on three sides by the joining of two wide rivers, one with a direct outlet to the ocean. Salt did not know when the house had been built but it was considered one of the show places of the locality.
“Do you think we’ll have much trouble getting our story?” Penny asked anxiously.
“All depends,” Salt answered briefly. He slammed on the brake so suddenly that Penny was flung forward in the seat.
Another car coming from the opposite direction had pulled up at the side of the road. Penny did not recognize the three men who were crowded into the front seat, but the printed placard, Ledger which was pasted on the windshield told her they represented a rival newspaper in Riverview.
“What luck, Les?” Salt called, craning his neck out the car window.
“You may as well turn around and go back,” came the disgusted reply. “The old lady won’t let a reporter or a photographer on the estate. She has a guard stationed on the drawbridge to see that you don’t get past.”
The car drove on toward Riverview. Salt sat staring down the road, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel.
“Looks like we’re up against a tough assignment,” he said. “If Les can’t get in—”
“I’m not going back without at least an attempt,” announced Penny firmly.
“That’s the spirit!” Salt cried with sudden approval. “We’ll get on the estate somehow if we have to swim over.”
He jerked the press card from the windshield, and reaching into the back seat of the car, covered the Model X camera with an old gunny sack. The miniature camera he placed in his coat pocket.
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“No use advertising our profession too early in the game,” he remarked.
Twelve-thirty found Penny and Salt in the sleepy little town of Corbin. Fortifying themselves with a lunch of hot dog sandwiches and pop, they followed a winding, dusty highway toward the Kippenberg estate.
Presently, through the trees, marking the end of the road, an iron drawbridge loomed up. It stood in open position so that boats might pass on the river below. A wooden barrier had been erected across the front of the structure which bore a large painted sign. Penny read the words aloud.
“‘Dangerous Drawbridge—Keep Off.’”
Salt drew up at the side of the road. “Looks as if this is as far as we’re going,” he said in disgust. “There’s no other road to the estate. I’ll bet that ‘dangerous drawbridge’ business is just a dodge to keep undesirables away from the place until after the wedding.”
Penny nodded gloomily. Then she brightened as she noticed an old man who obviously was an estate guard standing at the entrance to the bridge. He stared toward the old car as if trying to ascertain whether or not the occupants were expected guests.
“I’m going over to talk with him,” Penny said.
“Pretend that you’re a guest,” suggested Salt. “You look the part in that fancy outfit of yours.”
Penny walked leisurely toward the drawbridge. Appraisingly, she studied the old man who leaned comfortably against the gearhouse. A dilapidated hat pulled low over his shaggy brows seemed in keeping with the rest of his wardrobe—a blue work shirt and a pair of grease-smudged overalls. A charred corn-cob pipe, thrust at an angle between his lips, provided sure protection against the mosquitoes swarming up from the river below.
“Good afternoon,” began Penny pleasantly. “My friend and I are looking for the Kippenberg estate. We were told at Corbin to take this road but we seem to have made a mistake.”
“You ain’t made no mistake, Miss,” the old man replied.
“Then is the estate across the river?”
“That’s right, Miss.”
“But how are guests to reach the place? I see the sign says the bridge is out of commission. Are we supposed to swim over?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” the old man answered evenly. “Mrs. Kippenberg has a launch that takes the folks back and forth. It’s on the other side now but will be back in no time at all.”
“I’ll wait in the car out of the hot sun,” Penny said. She started away, then paused to inquire casually:“Is this drawbridge really out of order?”
The old man was deliberate in his reply. He blew a ring of smoke into the air, watched it hover like a floating skein of wool and finally disintegrate as if plucked to pieces by an unseen hand.
“Well, yes, and no,” he said. “It ain’t exactly sick but she sure is ailin’. I wouldn’t trust no heavy contraption on this bridge.”
“Condemned by the state, I suppose?”
“No, Miss, and I’ll tell you why. This here bridge doesn’t belong to the state. It’s a private bridge on a private road.”
“Odd that Mrs. Kippenberg never had it repaired,”Penny remarked. “It must be annoying.”
“It is to all them that don’t like launches. As for Mrs. Kippenberg, she don’t mind. Fact is, she ain’t much afraid of the bridge. She drives her car across whenever she takes the notion.”
“Then the bridge does operate!” Penny exclaimed.
“Sure it does. That’s my job, to raise and lower it whenever the owner says the word. But the bridge ain’t fit for delivery trucks and such-like. One of them big babies would crack through like goin’ over sponge ice.”
“Well, I rather envy your employer,” said Penny lightly. “It isn’t every lady who has her own private drawbridge.”
“She is kind of exclusive-like that way, Miss. Mrs. Kippenberg she keeps the drawbridge up so she’ll have more privacy. And I ain’t blamin’ her. These here newspaper reporters always is a-pesterin’ the life out of her.”
Penny nodded sympathetically and walked back to make her report to Salt.
“No luck?” he demanded.
“Guess twice,” she laughed. “The old bridgeman just took it for granted I was one of the wedding guests. It will be all right for us to go over in the guest launch as soon as it arrives.”
Salt gazed ruefully at his clothes.
“I don’t look much like a guest. Think I’ll pass inspection?”
“Maybe you could get by as one of the poor relations,” grinned Penny. “Pull your hat down and straighten your tie.”
Salt shook his head. “A business suit with a grease spot on the vest isn’t the correct dress for a formal wedding. You might get by but I won’t.”
“Then should I try it alone?”
“I’ll have to get those pictures somehow,” stated Salt grimly.
“Maybe we could hire a boat of our own,” Penny suggested. “Of course it wouldn’t look as well as if we arrived on the guest launch.”
“Let’s see what we can line up,” Salt said, swinging open the car door.
They walked to the river’s edge and looked in both directions. There were no small boats to be seen. The only available craft was a large motor boat which came slowly downstream toward the open drawbridge. Penny caught a glimpse of the pilot, a burly man with a red, puffy face.
Salt slid down the bank toward the water’s edge, and hailed the boat.
“Hey, you, Cap’n!” he called. “Two bucks to take me across the river.”
The man inclined his head, looked steadily at Salt for an instant, then deliberately turned his back.
“Five!” shouted Salt.
The pilot gave no sign that he had heard. Instead, he speeded up the boat which passed beneath the drawbridge and went on down the river.
CHAPTER 3
GIFT TO THE BRIDE
“Perhaps he didn’t hear you,” said Penny, peering after the retreating boat.
“He heard me all right,” growled Salt as he scrambled back up the high bank.
Noticing a small boy in dirty overalls who sat at the water’s edge fishing, he called to him: “Say, sonny, who was that fellow, do you know?”
“Nope,” answered the boy, barely turning his head,“but his boat has been going up and down the river all morning. That’s why I can’t catch anything.”
The boat rounded a bend of the river and was lost to view. Only one other craft appeared on the water, a freshly painted white motor launch which could be seen coming from the far shore.
“That must be the guest boat now,” remarked Penny, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun. “It seems to be our only hope.”
“Let’s try to get aboard and see what happens,” proposed the photographer.
They walked leisurely back toward the guard at the drawbridge, timing their arrival just as the launch swung up to the landing. With a cool assurance which Penny tried to duplicate, Salt stepped aboard, nodded indifferently to the wheelsman, and slumped down in one of the leather seats.
Penny waited uneasily for embarrassing questions which did not come. Gradually she relaxed as the boatman took no interest in them and the guard’s attention was fully occupied with other cars which had driven up to the drawbridge.
A few minutes later, two elderly women, both elegantly gowned, were helped aboard the boat by their chauffeur. One of the women stared disapprovingly at Salt through her lorgnette and then ignored him.
“We’ll get by all right,” Salt whispered confidently.
“Wait until Mrs. Kippenberg sees us,” warned Penny.
“Oh, we’ll keep out of her way until we have our story and plenty of pictures. Once we’re across the river it will be easy.”
“I hope you’re right,” muttered Penny.
While Salt’s task of taking pictures might prove relatively simple, she realized that her own work would be anything but easy. She could not hope to gather many facts without talking to a member of the family, and the instant she admitt
ed her identity she likely would be ejected from the grounds.
“I boasted I’d bring in a front page story,” she thought ruefully. “I’ll be lucky if I get a column of routine stuff.”
The boat was moving slowly away from the landing when the guard at the drawbridge called in a loud voice: “Hold it, Joe!”
Penny and Salt stiffened in their chairs, fearing they were to be exposed. But they were both greatly relieved to see that a long, black limousine had drawn up at the end of the road. The launch had been stopped so that additional passengers might be accommodated.
Salt nudged Penny’s elbow.
“Grant Atherwald,” he contributed, jerking his head toward a tall, well-built young man who had stepped from the car. “I’ve seen his picture plenty of times.”
“The bridegroom?” Penny turned to stare.
“Sure. He’s one of the blue-bloods, but they say he’s a little short on ready cash.”
The young man, dressed immaculately in formal day attire, and accompanied by two other men, came aboard the launch. He bowed politely to the elderly women and his gaze fell questioningly upon Penny and Salt. But if he wondered why they were there, he did not voice his thought.
As the boat put out across the river Penny watched Grant Atherwald curiously. It seemed to her that he appeared nervous and preoccupied. He stared straight before him, clenching and unclenching his hands. His face was colorless and drawn.
“He’s nervous and worried,” thought Penny. “I guess all bridegrooms are like that.”
A sharp “click” sounded in her ear. Penny did not turn toward Salt, but she caught her breath, knowing what he had done. He had dared to take a picture of Grant Atherwald!
She waited, feeling certain that the sound must have been heard by everyone in the boat. A full minute elapsed and no one spoke. When Penny finally glanced at Salt he was gazing serenely out across the muddy water, his miniature camera shielded behind a felt hat which he held on his knees.
The boat docked. Salt and Penny allowed the others to go ashore first, and then followed a narrow walk which wound through a deep lane of evergreen trees.
“Salt,” Penny asked abruptly, “how did you get that picture of Atherwald?”
“Snapped it through a hole in the crown of my hat. It’s an old trick. I always wear this special hat when I’m sent out on a hard assignment.”
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 2
